


Realizations of Hidden Truths

by just_another_outcast



Category: The Physician (2013)
Genre: Father Figures, Found Family, Gen, Light Angst, Not Canon Compliant, Protective Ibn Sina, Religious Conflict, Rob Cole Whump, Stabbing, fluff And whump, only in the sense that I changed a scene and added whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25134685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_another_outcast/pseuds/just_another_outcast
Summary: Davout loses his patience with a certain Englishman and lashes out with a knife.  Ibn Sina does all he can to save him, and realizes just how much the boy means to him along the way.
Relationships: Rob Cole & Ibn Sina, Rob Cole & Mirdin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Realizations of Hidden Truths

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rolypoly_panda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rolypoly_panda/gifts).



> Based off Linc's prompt: "the guy who hates him? stabs him"  
> Because who doesn't love a good stabbing? I hope you enjoy, and please leave a review!!!

Because of all he had endured throughout his short life, anxiety wasn't a stranger to him. Rob had known that pit in his stomach and the impending sense of doom since he was a small child, and he'd felt it frequently over the years, over things both real and imagined. But never in Rob's wildest imaginations had he ever thought that he would be in danger from religious zealots actively seeking his death. Even as the shah's guards held back the dark-clad men from the mosque who hurled insults and stones at them, Rob couldn't quite believe it was even happening in that way. Once he'd made the decision to hide his identity as a Christian, he assumed that anyone who sought his death from a religious standpoint would be doing so due to finding out his true faith, not an army of the city's radicals wanting to rid Isfahan of Jews. Then again, so much had happened that Rob could never have imagined that he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised.

"Shouldn't you be over there, Davout?" Rob asked the man with a sardonic grin. Davout had been nothing but cruel to him since his arrival at Isfahan, so he didn't feel too badly about lumping the man in with the other extremists.

Davout turned to him with the same barely controlled rage he'd held for him since their meeting. "When this godless madrasa comes tumbling down and a new institution is erected in its place, and I am made its dean, I will never be forced to endure you filth ever again." Rob rolled his eyes, but made no move to reply. Someone like Davout Hossein was not someone who could be reasoned with, and Rob didn't care to try. Based on Mirdin's shake of his head, he didn't care to either. But Davout had a strange glint in his eye that spoke of someone moved to action. His hand moved into his robes, but Rob was unable to see what he was reaching for. "In fact, I do believe your time here has come to an end." He took a massive step forward, towards Rob, and shoved Mirdin out of the way. Rob could only manage one step backwards before Davout's hand came out of his robes, gripping a knife, which was then quickly thrust under Rob's ribs.

Rob couldn't breathe. Only a gasp left his mouth as the pain mounted. The knife was withdrawn from him as quickly as it entered, falling to the ground with a clatter that Rob barely heard. In the back of his mind, Rob could hear Mirdin calling his name - well, calling his fake name. His friend was next to him immediately, hovering in shock. Rob fell against the stone wall and collapsed to the ground. The white hot pain continued to grow as Rob fought for every breath. Blood poured out from the wound, quickly soaking his white robes. It was hot and sticky against his skin, seeping through his fingers as Rob lethargically placed his hand over the wound. He needed to stop the bleeding.

"They threw a knife!" Davout shouted, a sick grin on his face. He made no move to run.

"Jesse, Jesse, stay with me," Mirdin pleaded as he pressed his hands down into the wound to stem the flow of blood.

"Someone get a hakim!" Davout shouted again. He knelt down by Rob as though to help him, but was stopped by a glare from Mirdin.

"Get away from him," Mirdin nearly growled at the man. "You're the one who did this."

"No one will believe you," Davout grinned. "It's your word against mine, no one else saw what happened. Even if the boy survives, who would believe the word of an Englishman over myself?"

Rob reached out to grip Mirdin's robes as he fought to breathe. He flinched away from Davout and looked up at his friend through tear filled eyes. It was the worst pain he had ever experienced. Rob just wanted Mirdin to make it stop. Where was Ibn Sina? He needed his teacher, the man who had become his father.

Mirdin pressed down with even more force onto the stab wound, which Rob knew was necessary if he stood any chance of surviving, but he couldn't hold back his cry of pain as he did so. Nothing had ever hurt so much.

"Ibn Sina is on his way," Mirdin told him. Rob could hear his friend's voice wobbling. "You're going to be alright, Jesse, just hold on."

If anyone could save him, it was Ibn Sina. There was no physician in all the earth more knowledgeable. And yet, Rob found himself not longing for the man because of his ability to save him, but because he longed to be comforted by the man he saw as a father. Mirdin was the older brother he'd never had, but Ibn Sina had become his surrogate father, just as his old master had been. Rob needed Ibn Sina, just as he needed the barber. The hakim had saved him once. Perhaps he could do it again.

...

Ibn Sina was quite used to being interrupted. It came with the territory as the master of the madrasa. He would get a small amount of work done, then be interrupted by a student with a question, which Ibn Sina was almost always happy to help him find the answer to. He could be tending to patients, then be interrupted by another hakim with an urgent matter. The only times when he truly found only annoyance in interruption was when the problem he was being presented with either did not require him, or it was a matter of politics or bureaucracy, which he found highly distasteful. Because of this, any time that someone chose to interrupt him, it was nearly always for a good reason.

While Ibn Sina poured over some of his students' reports, and the encroaching religious war grew outside the madrasa, he was interrupted by a fellow hakim with news that would turn the situation into the most important interruption of his life.

"Ibn Sina!" someone called out from a distance, his voice hurried and anxious. That was enough to get Ibn Sina's attention. Any problem that made someone sound like that was likely a very real problem, and thus would in fact require his attention.

He turned from the papers and faced the direction from which the shout had originated. "Yes, what is it?" he asked. Ibn Sina was expecting complications with a patient, or perhaps a disturbing update on the growing conflict between the extremists and everyone else.

"It's one of your students," the hakim said as he stopped in front of Ibn Sina, his hands on his knees as he leaned forward to catch his breath. He had clearly run the distance between the situation and the professor. "He's been hurt, stabbed," the man said.

A spike of ice cold fear shot down Ibn Sina's spine. He cared about all of his students, and the idea of some evil befalling them was unspeakable, but there was one student who did come to his mind first, that he was worried about more than the others. Jesse ben Benjamin, somehow, had come to mean more to him than any student ever had. Perhaps it was his boundless enthusiasm, or his limitless compassion and kindness for others, or his eagerness to soak up every bit of information that he could, that had endeared him so to Ibn Sina. But no matter the reason, he cared about the boy a great deal, and worried about him more than his other students.

"Then let us go to him," he plainly replied. No matter who was injured, Ibn Sina was going to do everything in his power to save him.

The other hakim led him quickly through the madrasa and to one of the side entrances. He could hear the shouting of the mullahs before he even stepped outside. Mirdin's voice came through clearly as well, and wherever Mirdin was, Jesse was not usually far behind. Ibn Sina's blood ran cold. In his heart he already knew that Jesse was indeed the injured student.

He burst through the door, the other hakim right behind him. His heart fell down to his feet at the sight of Jesse on the ground, blood pouring from a wound in his side. Mirdin had his hands pressed firmly over it, but that wouldn't be enough to save him. They needed more hakims to help bring the boy inside if Jesse had any chance of surviving. Davout should have been doing that, since the man was surely strong enough to carry the boy himself, but instead was simply standing there, arms crossed, staring down at Jesse with a smirk on his face. There was a bloody knife on the ground, laying a few feet away. Knowing that it had been inside his poor boy felt the same as if the knife had been thrust into Ibn Sina's own heart.

"Get him inside, immediately," he said, overcoming his shock and fear. "Your hands alone will not stop the blood flow, so pick him up and carry him to the nearest bed where he can be tended to properly." Mirdin spared him a quick glance and nodded. The urgency of the situation would be enough to give the young man the strength needed to carry his friend. Ibn Sina could see the same fear that felt himself reflected in Mirdin's eyes.

His broken heart shattered when Mirdin picked Jesse up with one arm under the smaller boy's knees and the other around his shoulders, and Jesse let out a cry of pain, sounding much like a wounded animal that would be put down to end its suffering. Is that what would have to be done to Jesse? Was the boy going to suffer until he took his final breath? Ibn Sina would do everything in his power to prevent that from happening, but if it came down to it, would he be able to do the right thing and let the boy go? He hoped that he would never find out.

Ibn Sina kept pace with Mirdin, unable to let Jesse out of his sight. The boy's tear filled eyes were watching him, staring up at him with nothing but hope and trust. He could not let the boy down.

"You'll be alright, Jesse," he found himself saying as they moved as quickly as possible to the nearest cot. Making promises was something a hakim should never do. There was never a guarantee that a life could be saved or a pain abated. Yet Ibn Sina had just promised Jesse that he would do just that, and he would not take back the promise. He would do everything in his power to keep it. He would do anything to never hear those pained moans from his favorite student ever again. "What happened?" he asked, directing the question more towards Mirdin.

"Davout stabbed him," the young man quickly replied, his voice shaking. Ibn Sina only blinked in surprise.

"And yet he stood idly by afterwards?" he confirmed. He didn't believe that Mirdin was lying, and truly, he wouldn't put it past Davout to do such a thing, but the man was a high ranking member of the institution, and accusations like that had to be taken seriously and carefully.

"He claimed no one would believe us," Mirdin continued, then carefully set Jesse down on the cot. The boy cried out in pain once more, his fingers clutching Mirdin's robes, which were just as bloodstained as Jesse's.

"Keep putting pressure on it," Ibn Sina ordered him, tabling the topic of how it happened for once Jesse had been saved. But if the man had done it, then there was nowhere that he could hide from Ibn Sina, especially if Jesse did not survive the attack.

He pushed his murderous and sinful thoughts away. Any sort of vengeance was for another time. First and foremost, he would save Jesse's life. He knelt down by Jesse's head for a brief moment. The boy's eyes were shut tight against the tears and the pain, but he was still conscious. Ibn Sina ran his fingers through the boy's curls, drawing his attention.

"You must be strong," he told Jesse. "I will do everything I can, but you must be strong, do hear me?" Jesse nodded, even as more tears streamed down into his hair. The boy reached out and grabbed onto Ibn Sina's robes, but he took a hold of Jesse's hand as he did so.

"Please," he begged. Ibn Sina didn't know if he were begging for the pain to stop, to die and be free in paradise, for his life to be saved, or anything else. The only thing he did know was that nothing was more important than saving the boy's life. "Don't leave," Jesse finished. Ibn Sina froze for a single moment. How could the boy even think that he was going to leave him? Out of everything Jesse could have been begging for, not being abandoned wasn't something that Ibn Sina had even considered. Ibn Sina was struck by just how young the boy sounded, by how young the boy had to be. He sounded like a child begging for his father, and perhaps, that was more accurate to the situation than Ibn Sina had first thought.

A pair of hands placed the inhalants under Jesse's nose, but Ibn Sina didn't care to gaze up and see the owner of those hands. His eyes remained locked with Jesse's, and he continued to hold the boy's hand.

"I'm not going anywhere. Be strong, Jesse," he repeated in a low voice, almost a whisper, as Jesse's eyes fell closed and his grip on Ibn Sina's hand fell.

Taking a final deep breath, Ibn Sina set aside his emotions and lost himself in the healing arts. He had dealt with injuries such as this before, and he likely would again. The patient being something of a son to him should not have had any bearing on his work, and yet, thoughts in the back of his mind that he kept pushed away as he worked reminded him that if he failed, the cost was so much higher.

Mirdin remained steady as he assisted him, something for which Ibn Sina needed to commend him for at a later time. After losing Karim so quickly, Mirdin must have been terrified of losing Jesse as well. But his hands were steady, and his eyes, although filled with fear, were clear. He did his duty as a young hakim, and proved once and for all that he would be as great a physician as anyone who graduated from the madrasa.

Soon enough, Ibn Sina had done all he could to save Jesse. The final stitch on the ugly wound under his ribs was in place, and there was nothing left to do but to wait. The knife had struck just under the lowest rib, and to the side. Hopefully, it had refrained from causing any permanent damage or striking any organs. But, as Jesse had pointed out, they knew nothing of what was truly inside the human body. If that lack of knowledge somehow proved to be the reason why Jesse did not survive, then Ibn Sina would curse himself for it forever.

Surely there were other things that Ibn Sina needed to attend to, but all of them paled in comparison to staying vigil over Jesse, waiting for the boy to wake. Mirdin seemed to feel the same. The young man sat on the edge of the cot, by Jesse's feet, nervously drumming his fingers and worrying his lip. He was still covered in the boy's blood.

"Mirdin, you must change into clean robes," Ibn Sina said with a shake of his head. Not only did he not wish to see any more of Jesse's blood, but it wasn't right to stay in such soiled garments longer than necessary. Ibn Sina had already had a fresh outer robe brought for himself, but Mirdin had not. Even Jesse was clean. The bandages were holding well, with no blood coming through. A light linen blanket covered the bandages as well as the boy's bare chest.

"I do not want to leave him," Mirdin muttered in reply. Out of respect, he made brief eye contact with Ibn Sina as he spoke, but soon looked right back at Jesse's prone form. The boy had yet to make any sign of waking, but his pulse was strong, and his breathing was steady. It seemed as though he was going to be alright.

"I will stay with him," Ibn Sina assured him. "I will not leave his side, I promise you." Nothing could take him away from the boy.

Mirdin again looked between Jesse and Ibn Sina, then finally nodded in acquiescence. Hesitantly, he stood, and walked away.

After only a moment, Ibn Sina moved to the foot of the cot, right where Mirdin had been sitting. He once again took a light hold of Jesse's hand, rubbing his thumb up and down the back of it. Whoever had done this, Davout or one of the mullahs who somehow got past the shah's guards, Ibn Sina would ensure that justice was served.

A small groan drew his attention back to the boy on the cot. Jesse's brow scrunched in pain as he let out a small whimper. Ibn Sina squeezed his hand and moved to kneel by the head of the cot.

"You're alright," he gently said. Slowly, Jesse's eyes opened, looking directly at Ibn Sina. "I'm right here. You're going to be just fine, my boy," he assured him with a smile. "However, due to the more severe nature of the wound, poppy seed ointment will only go so far in dulling the pain," he admitted. A stab wound was deeper than a blow to the head, and would take longer to heal as well. Jesse would have to rest for the next week at the very least. But, knowing the boy, he would quickly grow bored and insist on getting back on his feet before it was wise to do so, and there would be very little that anyone could do to stop him.

"You're here," Jesse muttered, still waking fully. His blue eyes stared at him with the same wonder that Ibn Sina had seen him expressing for every new thing he saw in Isfahan. Why had that gaze turned to him? "You stayed."

There it was. Jesse had been expecting him to leave. Frankly, the boy had dealt with so much loss in his short life, especially recently, that Ibn Sina couldn't be too surprised. Willing or unwilling, there were too many who had left Jesse's life. Ibn Sina did not wish to be one of them.

"Of course I did," Ibn Sina replied. He kept his voice detached and professional as a final facade. "You are my patient, and I do not leave patients until they are well once more." That was only partially true, and both of them knew it. Besides, Ibn Sina was still holding the boy's hand, so he was unable to truly claim objectivity in a believable manner. "And as your physician, it is my duty to inform you that although we are expecting you to make a full recovery, it is imperative that you rest and let your body heal." Jesse gave a light sigh, but nodded. Now, Ibn Sina needed to ask an important question, one that he dreaded the possible answer to. "Jesse, who did this to you?"

Jesse averted his gaze, but kept a firm grip on Ibn Sina's hand. "It was Davout. He said something about not wanting to endure me anymore, that my time had ended." He slowly brought his pain filled gaze back up to Ibn Sina, whose heart was breaking. "He said no one would believe us, especially an Englishman." Jesse was looking at him with fear, as if he wasn't sure that Ibn Sina would believe him.

"I believe you, Jesse," he quickly assured him. "Mirdin said much the same. Davout has grown increasingly cruel. I have seen his actions and heard his words towards you." Even if he hadn't, Ibn Sina would still believe him. What Davout didn't know was the depth of his care for Jesse. The cruel man saw a teacher who gave a student a chance, not a man who had unexpectedly found himself with a son. "I will do everything in my power to make sure that Davout is brought to justice. He will never harm you again, I will make sure of it."

"But he has the mullahs on his side, and-"

"And we have the truth," Ibn Sina interrupted. "In the words of the Buddha, 'three things cannot long remain hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.' One way or another, his true nature will be revealed to all." Someone like Davout, if unhindered, would hurt people again. His rage and his growing fanatacism were proving to be a deadly combination. He needed to be stopped. "You mustn't worry. All will be well."

"Jesse," someone breathed out as if a sigh of relief. Ibn Sina turned to see Mirdin, clad in clean robes, rushing towards them.

"You should be proud of your friend," Ibn Sina said to Jesse. "If it were not for Mirdin's assistance, your recovery would not be as certain," he said with a smile. Mirdin quickly knelt across from Ibn Sina, on the other side of the cot, so the both of them were on either side of Jesse.

"How are you feeling?" Mirdin asked, keeping his concerned gaze focused on his friend.

"As well as you might expect," Jesse admitted. "But I do not feel near death, for which I'm told I have you to thank." He smiled at Mirdin, and weakly lifted his hand up to him. Mirdin took it with a blush.

"Ibn Sina did most of it," he muttered.

"Your contribution was certainly necessary," Ibn Sina interjected. He tore his gaze away from Jesse and looked over at Mirdin. "This boy would not be alive right now if not for you. You will be a wonderful hakim. The both of you will." He looked back down at Jesse, and offered him a small smile.

"I cannot express the depth of my gratitude, to both of you," Jesse said, looking between Ibn Sina and Mirdin. "For more than simply saving my life. For so much more than that." It seemed as though there was more that Jesse wanted to say, but he remained silent. Ibn Sina would not press him.

"You are so much more to us than a student and friend," Ibn Sina said. He shared a quick look with Mirdin, who nodded and smiled in agreement. Jesse smiled, but it did not reach his expressive eyes, which were shining with something that Ibn Sina could not quite decipher. There was trust, but also something else. Guilt? But what on earth for? "You should continue to rest," he continued, deciding to move past it for the moment. "Your body needs time to heal, and Mirdin must continue with his studies." He shot the young man a pointed look.

"Can I be given something, at least?" Jesse asked, that innocence and eagerness to learn back in his eyes. "A report to read, or diagrams to study, or-"

"Oh, Jesse," Ibn Sina gently chastised with a shake of his head, but he was unable to keep the smile off his face. "If being given something to study will keep you resting your body, then I suppose Mirdin can bring you something. As much as I wish to, I cannot stay by your bedside all day. There are other things that do sadly require my attention, but I can make arrangements for Mirdin to stay with you."

Jesse smiled up at him with a gleam of mischief. "Allowing a hakim to spend so much time with one patient is hardly standard procedure," he said. Mirdin chuckled, but refrained from saying anything.

"He will not be staying with you as a hakim, merely as your closest friend," Ibn Sina claimed. It was an excuse, and all three of them knew it. Ibn Sina was in fact giving Jesse preferential treatment, and was only pretending that he wasn't. "I also know that if I do not give you something to keep your mind engaged, you will not stay in the cot where you belong. Call it a precautionary measure, part of your treatment. Mirdin having medical skills to keep your pain level as low as possible is simply an added bonus." He couldn't keep the grin from forming on his own face.

"I'll retrieve you something," Mirdin said around his own smile, then stood and walked towards the library, his steps a fraction faster than they normally would be. The young man clearly did not wish to stay away from his friend longer than he must.

"Be good for Mirdin, upon his return," Ibn Sina said. "Don't cause him too much trouble."

"What could I possibly do?" Jesse asked with a smile. "It's not as if I can move without pain, so it seems more fair to say that Mirdin should be the one to avoid causing me any trouble."

It was said as a joke, but Ibn Sina's smile gradually fell regardless. He hated that the boy was in so much pain. It wasn't right that this had happened. Jesse was a good boy, kind and gentle and loving. He didn't deserve to be attacked as he had. Davout would face serious consequences for this, Ibn Sina would make sure of it.

"Ibn Sina?" Jesse gently called out, having sensed the change in the man. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, my boy," he replied, his smile slowly returning. Even when stabbed, Jesse was more concerned about others than himself. What a truly remarkable boy. He would be one of the finest physicians that Ibn Sina had ever had the pleasure of teaching. "Once Mirdin returns, I will have to leave, since other duties require my attention as well, but I do promise to return," he said, his voice just loud enough for Jesse to hear him. Others did not need to be privy to his words. "You are a priority to me." There was nothing else that his pride would let him voice outloud, although he hoped that Jesse understood what he was truly saying. He squeezed the boy's hand once more as Mirdin approached, a pile of books in his arms. Ibn Sina stood once Mirdin set the books down. "Take care of our boy," he told Mirdin, even though Jesse could still hear him. "Keep him resting, but also manage his pain and perform your duties as a hakim to the highest level."

"Of course," Mirdin replied. There was nothing but sincerity in his voice.

Jesse began to move to sit up, letting out another cry of pain as he did so. Ibn Sina rushed back to his side, gently lowering him down on the cot once again. The protective instincts he felt towards the boy still surprised him. Was that what it felt like to be a father?

"You need to stay lying down, resting," Ibn Sina insisted.

"But how can I read for more than a few minutes while lying on my back?" Jesse protested.

"You're a strong boy. I'm sure you'll manage." He squeezed Jesse's shoulder and stood once more. "Do not let him do that again," he directed Mirdin.

Ibn Sina gave Jesse one last smile, then forced himself to walk away, listening as Jesse and Mirdin bickered softly over who got to read which book. Other things needed his attention. Yet even as he read more reports and looked after other patients, his mind consistently wandered back to Jesse and what had happened. That could never be allowed to happen again. Davout could never be allowed to be near Jesse again, or even in the same room. The hatred he felt for the man was sinful, he knew, but Ibn Sina made no attempt to control it. Davout had tried to murder someone who meant a great deal to him, and Ibn Sina could not apologize for hating the man because of it.

However, his hateful thoughts were drowned out by the love he felt for Jesse. Ibn Sina had never had children himself, but he supposed that Jesse made as good a surrogate son as any. The boy hadn't spoken much of his past, only that his mother had died of side sickness and he couldn't remember his true father. He'd spent the years following his mother's death in the care of a traveling barber, who became like a father to him, but the man hadn't wanted to join him on his journey to Isfahan. In all likelihood, Jesse would never see the man again. Ibn Sina knew that he couldn't stay in the boy's life forever either, which was a more painful thought than he would have imagined. One day, Jesse would have learned all he could in Isfahan, and travel back to England to share his gift with others. Ibn Sina could not join him, and their paths would divulge forever, possibly for eternity.

But that was something that he could not dwell upon. The future could not truly be known, and worrying about it would only cause more pain. All Ibn Sina could do was be the father that Jesse needed, as long as he possibly could. That would have to do.


End file.
